An Open Window

An Open Window By Rick R. Reed Embers flickered, orange and yellow, in the hearth. Jim and Henry sat in front of the fire, wrapped in two things—a yellow-and-white afghan, worn soft, and each other’s arms. The heat of the dying flames still gave off a little warmth, and when Jim looked over at his husband, his best friend, his soul mate, his outrageous lover, he saw him again as a very young man. A fire’s glow can do that, erasing lines, warming the complexion, and adding a subtle hint of magic to almost any face. But even without the enhancement of firelight, Jim would have felt the same about Henry, regardless of time’s relentless march across his features. Jim touched that face, because even after all these years, he couldn’t keep his hands off this man. This man who’d come into his life in such an abrupt and unexpected way twenty years ago tonight. “Merry Christmas, honey,” Jim said softly, looking deep into Henry’s warm and soulful brown eyes. Henry touched the tip of Jim’s nose and smiled. “Not quite yet.” He glanced at the old grandfather clock near the front door. “One more hour until it’s official.” Henry moved away for a moment to pour them some more wine, a Sicilian red. He shook the bottle a little to empty the last of the wine into Jim’s glass. “Another one bites the dust.” He set the wine back down and returned to Jim and his warm embrace. They sat for a long time, staring into the embers, which were almost like orange/golden eyes staring back. Jim was just starting to get sleepy when Henry said, “Remember?” He didn’t need to say more. Jim laughed and nodded. “The night we met? Of course, how could I ever forget?” “It was the night before Christmas,” Henry started. “Oh, there was a creature stirring all right!” They pressed their foreheads together, laughing and remembering. It was easy to laugh now, but back in 1997, Henry wasn’t laughing much, and if he’d been told back then that he would one day laugh about the predicament he’d found himself in that particular winter near the end of the twentieth century, he’d have called you crazy. Certifiable. Ready for the men in the white coats. “It was horrible,” Henry said. “Horrible and wonderful all at once.” “Isn’t it funny how things work out?” Jim asked. “Sometimes the very best gifts life gives us show up in clever disguise.” “I don’t know how clever my disguise was, but it sure scared the wits out of you that Christmas morning.” They closed their eyes. Two minds, as one, drifted back twenty years.